


Suit and Tie

by HalfwayToHell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Plug, Chastity Device, M/M, Spanking, Sub!Sam, Swesson, dom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfwayToHell/pseuds/HalfwayToHell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a distinguished businessman, Dean Smith expects nothing but excellence from his company and pliancy from his executives as well as his colleagues. Things were running smoothly, that is, until Sam Wesson crossed his path. Attractive, intelligent, a real go-getter--he's everything Dean could want in an executive assistant, but there is one small issue--or rather a concerning issue--Sam Wesson is perhaps the most stubborn person he has ever met. Dean begins to wonder if he has met his match or if he can still break Wesson in. Nothing a little molding can't fix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suit and Tie

**Author's Note:**

> I do accept prompts via my Tumblr account: http://hes-my-brother.tumblr.com/  
> I accept Wincest/J2/Swesson prompts; any and all kinks are accepted.

* * *

 

 

Obedience.

 

Such a simple word, but the weight it carried was substantial.

 

Especially for Dean Smith.

 

The word was a hot coal in his gut, the heat of it spreading into his veins and searing his flesh. There were only a few things in life that Dean expected of his peers: obedience, respect, pliancy—the down cast of their eyes as he passed by them in the hallways of Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. In a twisted sense, Dean enjoyed the submissive demeanors of his colleagues. Something about it made his body flush with heat.

 

It was that reason alone that the strange occurrence on his normal route to his office caught him off guard. It was a glitch, odd enough that it caused him to pause.

 

A tall, young man was standing off to the side of the hallway, one of his shoulders leaning against the wall while the other had a bag draped over it and his hands had been grabbing possessively onto the strap. He wore a bright yellow shirt with khakis and had been speaking with another man dressed in the same attire. Immediately, Dean had known the boy was a part of the call center. 

 

It was not the fact that there was a call center agent on the wrong floor of the building that caused him to pause. It was the sheer fact that the boy had not glanced away as he came walking up the hall. No  _ instead _ , the man looked back at him, his gaze unwavering and there was even a head tilt--a sign of curiosity. 

 

It had been  _ that _ glitch in his day that caused Dean to come to a halt beside him.

 

“What’s your name?” He inquired, with a small raise of his eyebrow.

 

The other man’s fingers tightened slightly on the bag’s strap. “Sam.”

 

Something about the name--perhaps familiarity--caused a sudden jolt of electricity to pinprick his heart. It was an odd sensation, almost as if there was something in the name that should have been so familiar to him, that it caused a warmth to lick up his neck and a heavy weight to sit in the marrow of his bones. 

 

It was in that moment of silence that hung between them in which Dean had recognised the name, but there was an inkling feeling inside of him that knew that it was not in the way he should have remembered the name. But it was a start.

 

“Wesson, right?” asked Dean and Sam’s eyes widened, a startled spark in his eyes. “You put in an application for my assistant.”

 

“Oh.” There was a hesitation in his tone, as if he was thinking Dean knew his name from somewhere else and it almost edged on disappointment but then he lifted his shoulders, giving a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah. I filled one out a month ago.”

 

Silence filled the space between them, which had been minimal. Dean chewed the inside of his cheek as his eyes slid up Sam’s body, mulling an idea over.

 

“Come to my office tomorrow,” Dean said at last. “We’ll talk.”

 

It was then that Dean had taken Sam underneath his wing as his assistant and he couldn’t deny that Wesson had everything he’d want in an assistant—intelligent, pays close attention to detail, a real go-getter, looks to boot, but there was one aspect of his personality that Dean had not expected, although he should have, given the way the younger man had caught his attention.

 

Sam Wesson was stubborn.

 

Not only that, but the boy tended to have a mouth on him—and not in the way that would cause a tight coil in Dean’s abdomen. He had quickly learned that one afternoon while he was sitting in his office, overlooking some paperwork while Sam filed away papers in the cabinet across the room. 

 

Without looking up from the papers in front of him, Dean said, "Hand me the Meyer's account information."

 

He could hear a loud sigh--edging on irritation--before he heard one of the drawers of the filing cabinet opening. A moment later, a folder was slapped onto his desk, ruffling the pages beneath his pen. 

 

A spark of agitation caused Dean to pause. He licked his bottom lip and took in a deep breath, calming the bothered nerves inside of him and he tapped his pen a few times in rhyme with the irritability he felt. When he felt he was calm enough, Dean flicked his pine gaze up at Sam, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. 

 

"Why don't you go and get us a cup of coffee." 

 

It was not a suggestion, nor did the tone in Dean's voice leave room for it to be one, but it was made immediately clear, that Sam was in no mood. Unfortunately for him and what he would soon learn, is that neither was Dean.

 

"Go and get it yourself."

 

The small spark of agitation inside of Dean ignited into a fiery rage, blazing hot flames licking up his insides. Before he could think, before he could stop himself, he was up and out of his chair, his hand lashing out to grab the back of Sam's neck and he slammed him down onto the desk. 

  
  


The surprised yelp barely passed through his lips before Dean's hand clamped down on his mouth, silencing him. With his fingers grabbing hard at the back of his neck, Dean leaned over Sam, pressing the length of his body against him. 

 

He could feel the younger man's body shake beneath his and a small voice in the back of his mind told him to release Sam, but the other one--the one that was still enraged--found pleasure in the fact that he had frightened him.

 

"Let's make one thing perfectly clear," Dean growled low in his throat, his lips nearly touching the other man's ear. "I don't appreciate the attitude. I suggest you learn your place before I send you back to the call center hell, Samuel. Do you understand?"

 

Avoiding his gaze--for once--Sam nodded profusely and Dean could feel his lips quiver against his palm that was still clamped over his mouth. Slowly, he removed his hand from Sam's mouth and the younger man made no notion that he was going to speak.

 

"Look at me and tell me you understand," Dean demanded, the rage that was inside of him gradually burning out. 

 

When Sam still continued to avoid his gaze, the fingers that were around the back of his neck twisted in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling at the strands, forcing Sam to look at him. A moan came from the younger man. 

 

At first, Dean had thought he had hurt him, but the pitch in the sound was not from pain at all. It was the complete opposite. 

 

The sound was pure arousal. 

 

The mere fact that Sam found the older man manhandling him to be a turn on, made a heat spread through Dean's abdomen. The heat no longer belonging to the raging anger he had felt before. This heat belonged to the same sensation that Sam had when he had wrenched the younger man's head back.

 

"What did I say?" Dean repeated, a gruffness taking hold of his tone.

 

"I understand," gasped Sam, staring at him with wide, kaleidoscope eyes.

 

"Good."

 

Naturally, Dean should have let him go, should have stepped back from him, should have stopped touching him, but he did not. Part of him wanted to keep this close proximity, meanwhile another part of him had realized something, a metaphorical lightbulb flicking on inside of his head. 

 

"Do you know how I got this position?" 

 

Sam's eyebrows pinched together for a moment, taken aback by Dean's sudden question. "Probably kissing the right person's ass," He answered and there was an honesty to the tone of his reply, as if that is what Sam truly thought.

 

A smirk curled at the corner of Dean's mouth and he leaned in closer, his crotch pressing against Sam's ass and his lips barely grazed the shell of his ear as he began, " _ Actually, _ " His free hand slid down the side of Sam's body--which trembled in anticipation--before he reached around the front of him, his hand palming at the half hard erection in Sam's trousers. "It was from sucking cock--the  _ right _ person's cock."

 

A whimper came from Sam and his hands balled into fists against the wooden desk. 

 

Seeing the younger man bent over the edge of his desk, his face flushed and his eyes glimmering with arousal, Dean realized that Sam was subservient, but under different terms. It was then that he noted that he could still mold Sam into a perfect, submissive assistant--however he'd have to use a different approach. 

 

Not that he was complaining, because this new approach was rather thrilling when he thought about it. 

 

A week had passed since that day and Dean had been putting his plans into motion. Everyday this week, he had worked Sam until wee hours of the night only to have him return a few hours later, not enough time for ample sleep and his exhaustion showed when he had caught him nearly falling asleep while standing in the elevator. 

 

Working Sam to the bone was not the only part of his plan to mold him into a submissive assistant and it was evident now in the way that Sam was bent over his desk again, his trousers around his ankles. Dean stood behind him, one of his fingers hooked in the lace, canary yellow panties, running the finger back and forth along the strip of flesh just below the waistband, teasing. It was almost twisted, the color he had chosen for the underwear, though it was meant to remind Sam that Dean could easily send him back to the call center, back to wearing a yellow polo and khakis.

 

Dean removed the silk, white and blue striped tie from around his throat. “Hands.”

 

Sam willingly put his hands behind his back, his face pressed into the wood of the desk. Dean tied the fabric around his wrists, tugging onto the knot to make sure it was secure.  

 

His hands slid over Sam's hips, one hand reaching around to fondle the chastity cage locked around Sam's cock. A throaty sound came from the younger man and it caused a smirk to creep across Dean's lips. 

 

Slipping his fingers into the waistband, Dean slid the panties down Sam's legs, stopping when they reached his knees. He reached up then to tug on the end of the plug that was inside of Sam's ass, which caused a keening to come from the younger man. 

 

"Do you want me to remove it?" He asked, continuing to gently tug on it.

 

"Yes," breathed Sam, a slight pitching in his tone.

 

A twisted sense of glee came over Dean then as he removed his hand from the plug's end, leaving it inside of Sam. "Wrong. You're supposed to ask me if  _ I _ want it removed. Looks like we'll have to work on your office etiquette a little more."

 

An exasperated whine came from Sam and it was choked off when Dean's fingers intertwined in his hair, pulling up up right.

 

"I will tolerate no back talk, Samuel," Dean growled into his ear and he ground his hips up against him. "Do I make myself clear?"

 

"Yes," Sam gasped. The pitch in his tone this time was from his hair being pulled taut but it was not in pain. The younger man also appeared to have a hair-pulling kink from what Dean had gathered this past week. 

 

"Good." 

 

Dean released his hair but kept him upright long enough to loosen the tie around Sam's throat, pulling it up and retightening it around Sam's mouth. 

 

"Just in case you get too loud," explained Dean as he eased Sam back down onto the desk. 

 

He suddenly stepped away from Sam then, coming around to open one of the drawers of his desk. Dean watched as Sam's eyes widened when he removed a ruler from his desk and the boy's teeth bit into the tie.

 

"Ten of these," At this, Dean smacked his palm with the ruler. "For being late this morning. Punctuality is to be expected of my assistant."

 

Dean ran the flat side of the ruler against Sam's ass. He watched as the boy's entire body tensed in anticipation. 

 

The first thwack of the ruler against Sam's flesh caused him to cry out, the tie muffling most of the sound. Dean did not hit him hard, at least not hard enough to break the skin, but with enough force behind it to leave a bright red welt against his ass.

 

"Don't tense, Samuel," Dean warned him. 

 

Surprisingly enough, the younger man's body relaxed. Dean wondered then if perhaps he had listened because he had told Sam or if Sam had learned his lesson. The thought was fleeting as he flicked his wrist, the ruler connecting with his flesh again.

 

With each thwack of the ruler against Sam's ass, there was a small cry that came from him and a new red welt appeared on his flesh. By the time Dean was finished, there were five red spots on each of Sam's ass cheeks. Dean had thought about delivering all ten of them to the same spot, but he decided that for only being a few minutes late did not deserve  _ that _ form of punishment. 

 

Dean gently kissed each of the heated welts before he pulled the panties back up around Sam's hips. He untied his own tie from around Sam's wrists and removed the other tie from the younger man's mouth. 

 

"Hopefully you have learned your lesson, Samuel, because next time I won't be so kind," He warned as he stepped away from the younger man. "Now. Make yourself presentable," Dean said as he adjusted his own tie. "I have a meeting in five minutes."

  
"Yes, sir."

* * *

 


End file.
